Been rough lately. Still cold as fuck out here. Cut off from everything I used to have in a different life.
Fucking Faceless sometimes showing up, freaking me the hell out. Its........getting easier? I guess? I mean, I'm not shrieking like a girl or shitting my pants or anything, but its so goddamn unnerving. And he's not like, telling me shit to do or anything.
I mean, he doesn't have a fucking side! He's just there, and he has zero fucks to give.
So all this proxy shit, I can't figure it the fuck out. How mental are these guys? I mean I'm desperate, that's no surprise, I'm at the point I'd throw an old lady under a bus if it meant he'd be done with me.
He doesn't communicate
he doesn't care, he's just standing the fuck there
Saw him earlier tonight. Homeless shelter. Cuz its cold and there's food.
Now admittedly I draw a lot of looks. I mean, I'm a motherfucking mummy with a red hoodie with a big ole (X) on it.
Either that or its cuz I have a laptop. Damn good thing too, its the only thing that can really, I dunno, attach me to what life used to be like?
Anyway, so the monster, the Slender Man he just pops in when I wasn't looking. Other side of the room, quiet as a ghost and he's looking this way. Doesn't take psychic powers to notice him in the room. I may have stifled a yelp before I moved.
So this big guy, I mean BIG guy, we're talking 400 pound dude takes an interest in me, as I scurry the motherfuck away. I get sort of belligerant, thought he was coming for the laptop, but no, he's sort of worried about me.
Guy out of the blue, motherfuckin cares. How's that for a surprise?
Fucking Faceless pops in again, behind him, about 20 feet away. And this guy is yakking and talking, and wanting me to respond, and I can't do shit, because he's RIGHT THERE, my heart's going a mile a minute, and I swear he gets larger, well, taller, and just less..less right. All spindly and shit.
This guy, who I probably'd call a fat fuck if he was an asshole, he tries to figure out what I've got a problem with. He turns around
he doesn't see shit. Good for him.
but he keeps looking
and he's talking
and he keeps looking
and then he must've seen
because I know the look he had on his face very, very well.
and he panicked, and he fell.
and then he ran.
and then the fat one and the thin one were gone.
and I wonder.
Did I cause this?
I was staring at him. I made him look, made him SEE, didn't I?
and I can't help but think
"Now you know, what my problem is."
"Now you know, whats wrong with life, with everything."
Now you get to face the terror that I do, every damn day
There's something strangely satisfying about all this, its so wrong to say it
I mean I sort of liked the guy, he was nice, and he seemed to have a real interest in helping
Misery loves company.